Page 68 of Dark Breaker

He nods slowly. “As am I. My father became a lot more aggressive after her death. That was when we really started expanding, because without my mother’s gentle hand to restrain him he became uncompromising with allies and absolutely brutal with enemies. He wiped out the family that killed my mother. Slaughtered them to the last man, woman, and child. I learned everything I know about the business—and life—from him.”

I consider what he just told me for a long moment. I’m not sure what to say at first. He’s being so brutally honest and open with me, and I definitely appreciate it. I just don’t want it to stop. Don’t want to say something wrong, something that sounds judgmental.

Finally I come up with: “Sounds like you look up to him.”

“I do. I just wish he’d have more faith in my decisions, at least when it comes to the business. It’s because of him that we have our little problem with the Jackal.”

I lean forward. “How so?”

“You can’t give in to a man like the Jackal,” Fabio insists. “You can’t show any sign of weakness. You have to be brutal from the get-go. When the Jackal started busting in the knees of our construction workers, father gave in immediately and paid him what he wanted. Things have been going downhill ever since. The Jackal keeps asking for more.”

“And you refuse to give him more, which is why he’s trying to kidnap me,” I reply.

“That’s right,” Fabio says.

“So you’d rather risk war than pay him or relocate your construction projects.” I immediately regret my words because they come off a tad confrontational, but my husband doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps talking, anyway.

“It’s not so simple,” Fabio replies. “I already told you, we can’t relocate. The costs are too high. Nor can we continue upping our payments. He knows this. Hewantswar. Because you see, even if we relocate, there’s no reason his attacks won’t follow. Just as there’s no limit to how much money he’ll extract from us if we let him. It’s like he’s got some personal vendetta against us. I just haven’t figured out what it is.”

The wine arrives and this time it’s to our satisfaction. It has a sharp, crisp flavor: full, tart, and oaky. Or something pretentious along those lines.

From the menu, Fabio orders meTortelli di Zucca—pumpkin ravioli, a dish from northern Italy. He grabs the iconicPasta alla Normafor himself.

“I can cook a meanPasta alla Norma,” I tell him after the waiter is gone. “It’s just pasta with a little tomatoes, fried eggplant, ricotta and basil.”

He takes a sip of wine. “I might have to take you up on that offer. Is that your best dish?”

“Hell no,” I tell him. “That would beStigghiola.”

He makes a disgusted face. “You’re joking.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yup! Definitely joking. I’m not really into grilled goat intestines.”

“Good!” he says, obviously relieved. “I thought I was going to have to eat it sometime.”

I sip my wine playfully. “Maybe I’ll make it for you anyway.”

“Oh, but if you make it, the rule is you’re eating half,” he insists.

“Hey, no one says I have to eat the food I cook,” I tell him.

He crosses his arms. “In my house, you do. Half. Unless it’sPasta alla Norma. Then you’re only allowed ten percent.”

“And you get to eat ninety percent, huh?” I ask. “You keep changing the rules. I see how it is.”

“Well maybe I’d let you have a little bit more. As long as you didn’t cookStigghiolaafter.”

I give him a sweet smile. “Maybe I’ll cookStigghiolaandPasta alla Normaat the same time.That way I get fifty percent guaranteed. I’ll mix them together, and call itPasta alla Norma Stiffhiola.”

He chuckles. “Oh, that would be a nightmare. You like to torture me don’t you Rosa?”

“Only when you deserve it,” I tell him with a laugh.

“Which is never,” he says coolly.

I merely shrug.

He sips more of his wine. “So. What else do you like to do when you’re not studying psychology, or driving your Vespa aimlessly through the streets?”